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“So then he just kicks the droid, right in the vocabulator, and the thing’s sparking and wailing that it’s just had its neck joints oiled, and he just blasts its head right off, and then he says—”
Ping.
They stopped abruptly, as soft, fluffy curls cascaded from the tight bun, falling to rest gently on Tup’s shoulders. Dogma stared at Tup in shock.
“What just happened?” he demanded tightly.
Tup glanced around nervously, white and blue plastoid clacking as he swiftly swept up the ink-black, wayward locks with both hands. “Hair tie broke,” he muttered, holding it one hand as he searched his belt pouches with the other. “It happens, I’ve got a spare here somewhere—”
“Well, hurry up,” Dogma hissed, eyes darting about. “We’re going to be late for muster, and I’m not getting yelled at by the Captain because your non-regulation hair is—“
“Relax, Dogma,” Tup soothed, nodding for him to start moving, still searching the pouches. “We’re not going to be late, I can walk and do this at the same time.” The fingers searching the pouches grew more frantic in movement as they progressed down the halls of the Resolute towards the assembling formation in the hangar. He always carried extra, at least two or three, for just these emergencies—
“Dogma, I can’t find them,” Tup finally stopped, eyes wide in panic. Dogma puffed up like a hissing adder, fear and anger warring in his eyes.
“I told you that hair was going to get you in trouble, why didn’t you listen to me? Now you’re going to get in trouble, and I can’t help you—”
“Excuse me,” a small voice cut through Dogma’s panicked tirade. The two turned, suddenly silenced, to take in the tiny natborn officer peering up at them. She was practically tubie-sized, her uniform fitting slightly loose, and huge gray-green eyes that nearly matched her jacket were fixed on Tup’s hair, still held tightly in one hand atop his head. “No, please don’t salute, I’m not that important,” she added hastily, as the men began to snap to attention. “Just a low-level supply officer. But I just couldn’t help hearing that you’re having a hair emergency, and, well, I have a spare.” She held out her hand, where a hair tie rested on her palm.
Tup and Dogma glanced at each other.
Could they accept something from a natborn officer?
Was there a rule for this?
Was it a trap?
“Erm, that’s very kind, sir, but I can’t—” Tup began, only to falter as the tiny officer began waving her other hand emphatically.
“Really! It’s just a hair tie! No debt or anything, these things are like two dozen for a credit. I’ve got a bunch, for my own hair—“ she gestured to the back of her head, and Tup could see a rather large elaborate bun set just below the rim of her cap.
“Well,” ignoring Dogma’s wide eyes and tiny head shake of dissent as he gingerly picked up the hair tie, trying to avoid touching the nattie, “if you’re sure—“
“Course! You can keep it. Happy to help— us long-haired folks have to stick together when everyone wants to buzz it off,” the officer chirped cheerfully. “So long, trooper!” And with that, she wheeled around and strode away. Tup and Dogma stared after her, slack-jawed.
“Who was that?” Tup finally broke the silence, hair secured. Dogma startled, irritable attitude restored.
“Someone as hell-bent on breaking regulations as you are,” he snapped, bodily shoving Tup into the hangar. “Now let’s go.”
“So then he says, ‘well, if you really need that charge cell, I’m sure we can work something out that’s mutually beneficial, if you know what I mean.’”
Tup looked up from his vambrace. He had just stepped out of the barracks, checking his comm to track down his squad. The tiny supply officer was walking down the hall towards him, chatting animatedly with another female officer.
“Eww! That’s so gross! He’s like what, 50? Did you report him?”
“To who? The General? I can only imagine what that conversation would sound like.” The tiny officer pitched her voice low and melodic. “‘What’s wrong with Pibbs, Luce? He seems like a nice guy. Give him a chance!’” The tiny officer shook her head. “For a Jedi, Skywalker’s got the social awareness of a rock. And I would happily deal with Pibbs if it kept him away from the Commander, so she’s out.”
Her friend grinned. “She’d kick his ass.”
“And get in trouble for it. No, I’ll just avoid him, get Timmons to get my power cell for me. I’d rather owe him a favor than—“
Ping.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” the tiny officer groaned, as the coiled bun slowly unfurled down her back. The other officer laughed.
“Told you to cut it! Better hurry and fix it.”
“I’ll have to go back and do it, I left my spares in my other jacket,” the tiny officer growled, shoulders slumping.
“Then you’ll be late—”
“Excuse me,” Tup interposed, voice barely above a whisper as he approached hesitantly. Interrupting an officer, speaking out of turn, he could get in so much trouble—
“Hey! My long-haired friend!” the tiny officer turned and broke into a wide grin. The other officer appeared less enthused by this interruption, but as she hadn’t started shouting at him, Tup counted it as a win.
“I have a spare. To return the favor,” he added hastily, pulling a hair tie out of his pouch and holding it out to her, pinched between two fingers. The other officer’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of her cap.
“Well that’s perfect timing! Thanks so much!” The tiny officer plucked the hair tie from his grasp, immediately removing a handful of hair pains and winding the bun back into place while she held the hair pins between her teeth.
“‘m Wuce, by the way,” she mumbled around the hair pins, hands working furiously behind her head.
“Wuce?”
“She means Luce,” supplied the other officer in a long-suffering tone. She didn’t volunteer her own name.
“Ah. I’m CT—”
“No, I don’t like numbers,” Luce cut him off. “What’s your name, if that’s okay?” Tup shifted nervously.
“Tup.”
She smiled, those huge gray-green eyes bright as they locked on his. “Nice to meet you, Tup. Thanks again. We gotta run to a meeting, see you around!”
“Yeah,” Tup breathed, watching the officers resume their trek down the hall. Natties were so bizarre.
“Hey, Tup!”
Tup paused at the high-pitched voice calling down the hallway. Dogma halted too, helmet tilted in confusion, then irritation.
“Not her again—”
“Shut up,” Tup hissed as Luce approached, subtly stomping on his brother’s foot. “Sir, good to see you.”
“Not sir, just Luce, I’m off-duty,” she smiled cheerfully, waving away the title. “Heading out on the mission?”
“And we’re going to be late,” Dogma’s sharp retort cut through the pleasant conversation, and Tup winced. Luce’s eyebrows rose, but she seemed otherwise undaunted.
“I won’t keep you, just wanted to make sure you had spares, just in case.” She held up a hair tie, grinning cheekily. Tup couldn’t help a smile.
“I’ve got mine, but thanks for checking, Luce.”
“Course! Us long-haired folks gotta stick together, you know? With everyone telling us to whack it off. Well, good luck down there! See you around!” She waved cheerfully, and he nodded, as Dogma all but dragged him away.
“See you around, Luce.”
“That nattie is a problem,” Dogma grumbled.
“You just don’t like her disregard for protocol,” Tup poked his brother. He scowled.
“If you’d just shave your head like the rest of us, she wouldn’t even be bothering you—”
“She’s not bothering me, Dogma,” Tup sighed, feeling a headache start to bloom. He’d always guessed that Dogma had absorbed the programming a bit more than most, but even Tup’s patience for his brother’s tight hold on protocol ran thin at times. “Just a friendly nattie. No different than Commander Tano or the General. There’s no harm in it. Now can we just get on the larty and go crush some clankers, please?” he cut across Dogma’s anticipated objection. He slid past his cranky brother and stepped aboard the gunship, taking his place next to Kix.
“Another one?”
“It’s not like I can help it,” mumbled Tup from under his gloved hand. He massaged his right temple, trying to ease the ache. He’d gotten a handful since shipping out from Kamino, and they were growing more uncomfortable. Not helped by Dogma’s agitation over them, either.
“You can’t keep going to medical, Kix is going to notice soon enough. We’re not supposed to get headaches—”
“I know, Dogma—”
“And if he tells Fives, it’s going to turn into a whole thing—”
“Hey there!”
Tup and Dogma turned around to see Luce trotting up behind them. Tup managed a small smile for his tubie-sized friend. It fell as she frowned.
“Headache?”
“He’s fine,” snapped Dogma, grabbing Tup to drag him away. Luce’s frown deepened.
“I get them too, you know,” she shot back. “Sometimes having my hair a certain way pulls on my head and causes a headache. Change up the style and it’ll pass.” Dogma turned, angling to physically cut Luce out of the conversation. Tup frowned.
“You should just shave it, then,” Dogma insisted stubbornly, clearly fed up with all of this. Luce danced around Dogma, looking as though he’d offered a newborn to a massif as a snack.
“Absolutely not!” she retorted, outraged. “A different style is all you need.”
Tup pulled away from Dogma, staring down at Luce. “That works?” He tried not to sound hopeful, but she smiled anyway, her anger melting in her enthusiasm.
“Sure! Have you tried braiding it?”
“I can’t,” Tup admitted. Luce looked to Dogma, who scoffed.
“Shave it,” he insisted. Luce rolled her eyes.
“I’ll braid it,” she volunteered. She glanced up and down his figure, considering the logistics; she barely came up to his chest. “But you’ll need to sit down, and the hallway would be weird. How about down in the hangar? There’s some crates by the larties that will work as a chair.”
And so Tup found himself sitting on a crate in a mostly-empty hangar, half a dozen brothers peeking at a distance while Luce happily braided his hair against his head. It felt surreal, sitting in the dimly lit, chilled, echoing space surrounded by crates of supplies and empty gunships, while Luce’s warm fingers combed through his hair and gently worked it into submission.
“Long hair is traditional on my planet, so I used to do my brothers’ hair all the time,” she chattered brightly, a fond smile gracing her face. “Since your hair is thick and you have to wear a helmet, we’ll do two plaited against your head with the ends tucked under, like a double mohawk. Shouldn’t impact how you wear your bucket at all.”
“Thanks for this,” Tup responded softly. To be honest, he enjoyed the feel of her dexterous fingers dancing across his scalp, soothing the tension that rippled beneath it. Dogma scoffed quietly, determinedly looking the other direction. Luce glanced at him, a mischievous smirk teasing at the corner of her mouth.
“Any time, Tup. In fact—” she had finished tucking the tail of the second braid under, and reached out to grab his vambrace. Tup was too shocked to stop her as she tapped in a code. “There. Call me any time, as long as it’s not a totally unreasonable hour. It’s nice to share my culture with someone. Let me know if that style’s not comfortable for you!” She jumped off the crate and walked away, waving as she passed the troopers who had been watching, too stunned to hide their gawking. Tup watched her leave, gently patting his new hairstyle. Dogma rolled his eyes and jumped off of his crate, scrubbing at the tattoo on his face in irritation. He scrutinized Tup, hard eyes raking his appearance.
“How’s your head?”
“A little better.”
“—so then he says, ‘you know, you have to give a little to get a little. I’ll make it worth your while.’ Which is just, so gross. So I got up and took my tray to a different table. He’s so…ugh. I could barely eat after that. I mean, how many times does he have to get turned down before it sinks in?” As Luce chatted, her hands skated through Tup’s hair near the crown, picking up locks with the scoop of a finger and marshaling them into their stations like an intricate battle formation against his head.
They’d been meeting for these hair sessions for a couple weeks now. Dogma sat nearby, his posture clearly articulating just how painful he found these interactions. Yet he never missed, always watching for some infraction or dangerous misstep. Tup wished he’d relax— Luce had proven a kind friend, happy to disregard rank and carry the conversation as she neatly tamed his thick mane of hair. He didn’t really care what she discussed— gossip, stories from her home— whatever made her happy, as long as she kept taking the edge off the headaches.
“You should report him.”
“That’s what Klist said too, but honestly, I’ve dealt with this before, chain of command doesn’t do anything. Maybe a little zapper for self defense would be better.” Dogma glared at her.
“That’s not allowed.”
She shot him a look. “Neither is workplace sexual harassment, yet here we are.” Dogma pursed his lips, but didn’t press, which was as close as Luce was going to get to an apology.
“Anyway, I heard that after this re-supply, we’re heading to Umbara. Ever heard of it?”
Luce’s soothing fingers raked against Tup’s scalp, and he closed his eyes, leaning back slightly into the touch. It eased the growing ache, and he lost track of the conversation. He wondered dimly if Luce would be offended if he dozed off.
Knowing her, she’d probably go find a blanket for him.
“Tup? Tup. Can you hear me?”
Tup blinked. Both Luce and Dogma were crouched before him. Luce looked deeply alarmed, her gray-green eyes wide with worry; Dogma gaped in sheer horror. Tup frowned warily. “Sorry, did I fall asleep?”
Luce shook her head slowly. “You spaced out, and started mumbling to yourself. Tup, why did you say ‘good soldiers follow orders’?” At the words, Tup’s head pulsed angrily, and he fought a wince.
“I don’t know. Sorry,” he added lamely. Luce frowned harder.
“You need to go to med-bay. Maybe it’s not a headache.” Dogma’s mouth snapped shut, and he turned towards her, fear and anger glittering in his narrowed eyes.
“He’s fine,” he hissed, then rocketed up, grabbing Tup by the arm and hauling him away. Tup glanced over his shoulder. Luce stood watching them go, the tiny officer dwarfed by the crates surrounding her. The expression of worry and compassion on her face lingered in his mind for hours.
There was no way Luce was letting this go.
Tup knew that Dogma, ostentatiously rule-following as he was, could sneak and hide with the best of them. All cadets had learned the basics of this as a matter of surviving Kamino. So he was not surprised that Dogma had stuck to him like a limpet on an aiwha the following day, bullying Tup into random corridors and generally taking whatever measures he saw fit to avoid the tiny natborn supply officer. And he succeeded; Luce was no expert tracker, and the Resolute was larger than a small city.
However.
She was a clever problem-solver. And Dogma’s evasion skills were no match for ori’vod’e.
Tup knew they were cooked the minute Kix appeared in the doorway of the rec room.
“Tup, Dogma,” he greeted evenly. Tup checked his other exits; Fives and Jesse stood in front of them.
“Care to explain why Fives and I had to learn from a nattie supply officer that you’re having headaches, dizziness, and blackouts?” His eyes glinted with a righteous anger. Tup bit back a sigh, mentally chucking Dogma under the speeder for this. His brother jumped up, standing defensively in front of Tup.
“He’s fine,” he snapped. “Clones don’t get headaches. It’s his stupid hair, and he’s fixed it—”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” interrupted Kix imperiously, crossing his arms to emphasize the medic symbol on his shoulder guard. Jesse and Fives advanced, wearing matching frowns.
“Tup, you know better than to avoid med-bay if you need help,” Fives started. Jesse converted a snort into a cough; Fives’s hate-relationship with the med-bay was the stuff of legends. “If it’s an easy fix, then there’s no need to suffer. If it’s more, Kix can help.”
“What would the scan entail?”
“He’s fine,” stressed Dogma, disregarding Tup’s questions and shrinking back towards him where he remained seated on the bench. “He doesn’t need anything.”
Kix answered as though Dogma hadn’t spoken. “We’ll start with a rundown of your symptoms, then assign a baseline scan. If we don’t see anything obvious, then we’ll move onto a more serious scan. Depending on what we find, treatment could be medicinal or surgical; we won’t know until we identify the problem.” Tup could sense Dogma’s panic building, as he practically vibrated in front of him, still trying to screen against three adversaries.
Fives shifted his attention to Dogma.
“Why aren’t you letting Tup speak for himself, Dogma? Blackouts are no joke, kid. You want him to suffer?”
“No,” spat Dogma. Tup could feel his batch mate’s agitation rising rapidly.
“Then let’s go.”
“He doesn’t need to, he’s fine, just leave him alone.”
“He’s not fine, Dogma, why the kark is this such an—”
“I am not losing another batch—” Dogma slammed his mouth shut. Tup reached out and fisted the back of Dogma’s body glove, to anchor, to comfort. He could taste the fear and grief that laced the heavy silence.
Tup lifted his gaze to Fives. The ori’vod, who couldn’t lie to say his life, who wore his feelings on his sleeve. His expression made tears start in Tup’s eyes as his heart squeezed. Fives stepped closer, then dropped to one knee before them. “I swear to you, as the last Domino,” his voice hitched ever so slightly, “that I will lay my life down before I let that happen. But Dogma, if you don’t let Kix find out what’s wrong with Tup, you could lose him anyway. If Tup accepts the risk, you need to let him do this.”
Dogma clenched his jaw, chest rising and falling rapidly. He turned, locking eyes with Tup. They nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
Within an hour, Tup found himself staring up into the domed tunnel of the scanner above the surgical bed, its light teal glow soothing his slightly frayed nerves. “How did you get the General to sign off on this?” The initial scans showed worrying brain activity but no discernible cause; more invasive tests were needed. Ones that only nat-born officers could authorize for clones.
Tup looked to Kix, who smirked as he tapped away at the control screen. “Told him as little as I could, with a lot of mundane detail. He wasn’t even listening, just signed it and told me he trusted my judgment. You know him; not really a details guy if it doesn’t involve droids or ships.” Despite the gravity of the situation, Tup chuckled.
“Now, brother— lay down, and just relax…”
~~~~
Tup woke feeling very warm, and slightly off. The weight of a brother held down one side, and judging by the slight snuffle, it was Dogma. The smell of bacta and disinfectant and the brightness behind his eyelids suggested a med-bay; he must have been moved from the surgical pod. Tup blinked his eyes open, trying to clear his vision. He kept blinking. Dimly, he could hear a beeping sound accelerate as his ears began to roar.
“Whoa there, Tup. Just relax. You’re safe, vod.”
“I can’t see clear,” Tup puffed, his breath growing shallow. Dogma had woken up, and stared at him, a blurry form.
“It will pass, should only last a couple of weeks at most. There’s a lot to catch you up on, but you’re gonna be fine. Any pain or weirdness you’re feeling will pass, and no one’s getting decommissioned. So can you take some slow breaths for me, brother?”
Tup forced a few breaths. “Dogma?”
“I’m here,” and Tup felt a hand on his face. The beeping slowed, and he felt Dogma settle back down beside him.
“I need to check on the other patients,” Kix said. “You gonna be okay?”
Tup nodded. “Thanks, Kix,” Dogma added brusquely. Tup heard footsteps retreat.
“So, what did I miss?”
Dogma huffed. “Only the end of the war.”
“What? How long was I out??”
“Kix did the deeper scan, and found an abnormality. You had another minor episode while that happened. They did brain surgery and found a decayed biochip. It had degraded some of the surrounding brain tissue, which is why your sight is temporarily karked; Kix and the surgical droid had to remove it, or risk the decay potentially spreading. He gave the chip to one of the slicers, who got to work while Fives volunteered to get scanned. We all have the chips. So he had his removed, and it was healthy-looking, despite how crazy he is. The slicers had better luck with that one, and found that it’s an inhibitor chip encoded with orders, that are activated by voice command. Fives and Kix took that to Skywalker, who lost his shit— turns out, he was a slave as a kid. Didn’t take kindly to the idea of us having our minds enslaved. He disobeyed orders,” Dogma’s voice had gone flat on that, and Tup suppressed a smile. “Told Umbara to kark off and made for Kamino. The 212th met us here, and confronted Nala Se. Turns out she’s been double-dealing with a Sith Lord, who ordered the chips. They ordered a comms blackout and started surgeries. Then I guess Skywalker and Kenobi found something, made for Coruscant with the de-chipped 212th, and the next thing you know, the Chancellor’s dead of a heart attack and the Separatists are suing for peace.”
Tup merely blinked. It didn’t help.
“So now what?”
He felt Dogma shrug, and snug in tighter. “We wait for new orders.”
An hour later, Fives strolled in, smirking, with Jesse sniggering at his back. “Well look who’s awake! Welcome back, vod’ika,” Fives boomed, earning himself a dark glare from Kix, and a few hisses from troopers nursing headaches from their surgery.
“Thanks, Fives,” Tup smiled weakly. Fives waved it away.
“Don’t thank me. You’re got this one to thank,” and he stepped aside, revealing a familiar tiny blurred form.
“Tup!” Luce whisper-shouted, practically hopping in delight.
“Oh no,” groaned Dogma, flopping dramatically back onto the bed out of view. Tup could hear Fives and Jesse stifle laughs as the blurry form of Luce bounded over.
“Brought you something,” she fished in her pocket, pulling out—
“Ah yes,” Fives intoned solemnly, peering over her shoulder at the object that lay in her hand, “the hair tie that saved the galaxy. You ought to frame that, Tup.”
“I hate all of you,” mumbled Dogma into the pillow, as Luce settled in by Tup’s head, mindful of his healing scar, carefully parting sections to begin a new braid.